


Discipline Problem

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Secret Six
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Public Sex, in a cute way you understand, inappropriate lube substitutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is about Catman and Deadshot, and all you really need to know is that the file on my computer is called "loudsexinaninappropriateplace.odt."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Проблемы дисциплины](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10023401) by [fierce_cripple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierce_cripple/pseuds/fierce_cripple), [WTFDeadRobin2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTFDeadRobin2017/pseuds/WTFDeadRobin2017)



“Keeee- _rist,_ Tomcat, do you actually _know_ how to _not_ get shot?”

“They're only pellets. And I didn't know they were carrying semi-automatic weapons.”

“Fuck, you've got a semi-automatic _brain._ ”

“Floyd, that doesn't even make— _ow._ ”

“Will you hold _still?_ ”

There's a clatter as the little BB drops onto the tea tray Floyd's using as a makeshift surgical _mise-en-place_. A busted safehouse is hardly an ideal location for triage, but at least the dining room setup's decent—nice big table, plenty of napkins he can use as towels, lots of elbow room. If it weren't for the fact that there's just been a shootout and the next room's full of dead bodies, Floyd thinks he could be pretty comfortable here for a couple of days at least.

He _hmph_ s at the bloody BB, glances longingly at his pack of cigarettes, and then cracks his neck and leans back in with the tweezers to pull out the other one.

Thomas grunts and bites off another, _“Ow,”_ shifting away.

Floyd snorts and smacks him—on the ass, because it's the closest thing he can reach that isn't _actually_ full of airsoft BBs. “Hold still, ya moron, or this is gonna be _way_ uglier than it already is.”

“It _hurts._ ”

“Doesn't hurt me, I ain't the one who went and got shot.” He leans in, peers at the BB, and then extracts it with a quick twist of the tweezers.

Thomas yells.

“Keep it _down,_ you want them to _hear_ us? 'They're only pellets.' Hnf.” Floyd puts his tweezers down and reaches for his smokes. “Anyway, your other leg's good, put your pants back on.”

“Aren't you going to suture them or anything?”

“ _That?_ Put a Band-Aid on it, Pussycat, you'll be fine.”

“You're an asshole.”

“I can put a bullet back _in_ your leg if you like.”

At that, Thomas doesn't say anything, just shifts around until he's sitting on the table with his legs dangling off the edge.

Floyd glances at him and almost drops his lighter. “Whoa. Was _not_ expecting that.”

Thomas follows his gaze and shrugs. “It's the adrenaline. Does it every time.”

“Yeah, guess I know how that— _hey!_ ”

He doesn't even have time to protest coherently before Thomas plucks the cigarette from his hand and stubs it out on the table. He _starts_ to say something when he loses his lighter, but then Thomas gives him a look he _recognizes_ and grabs him by the belt.

“Look, this ain't really the time for—”

Too late, because their mouths are pressed together, Thomas growling against his lips, and—Floyd is _way_ more into doing this right now than he really should be.

When he's got his mouth back for a moment he says, “Seems like a lot of our relationship is based on you grabbin' me when I ain't expecting it.”

“You're sort of oblivious otherwise.”

“Yeah, well. Y'know, the cops are probably coming. Shooting did get pretty loud. Plus that one guy did scream when you clawed him.”

Thomas cocks his head. “Do _you_ care?”

“...ah, fuck 'em.”

“Not what I—”

“Yeah, yeah, not what you had in mind.” Floyd moves forward suddenly and fists one hand in the back of Thomas' hair. “All _kinds_ of a discipline problem.”

“You love it— _ah!_ ” as Floyd bites the side of his neck, and then his cry morphs into a deep-throated growl and cloth tears.

“This was a new costume, y'know?” Floyd's tone is mild, but his eyes are dark. “Stand up for a sec, I wanna try something.”

There are faint police sirens in the distance as Thomas slides to his feet, eyeing Floyd suspiciously. “What?”

He's normally the faster one, but Floyd has the element of surprise. So Thomas snarls as he's spun, doesn't have time to get his balance back before he's bent over the table, bare chest against the smooth wood. Floyd kicks his feet apart, moves to stand between his legs, and leans down so his mouth is close to Thomas' ear. “ _This_ what you had in mind?”

Thomas shudders and says, “Maybe.”

“Don't you _maybe_ me, asshole, you want me to fuck you or _not?_ ”

“I—”

“Yes or no.”

_“Yes.”_

“Say please.”

“I'll shave your mustache off if you don't get on with it.”

“Aw, Tomcat, that ain't polite.” Floyd smirks. “You wanna be _rude,_ I can just go jack off with a magazine.”

Thomas grinds back against him, which is tricky, because he can't get too much purchase. _“Fuck.”_

“Missed a word there.”

“Fuck _me._ ”

“Yeah, ok.” He pops his belt open with one hand, shoves his waistband down, and presses his cock against Thomas' ass. “Gotta say, though, you read my mind.”

“Yeah?” Thomas twists a little bit, trying to see what he's up to.

“I was havin' some thoughts.” He thumbs the cap off his little travel bottle of G96 with one hand—not ideal, but it's what's around—and clamps his other hand on the back of Thomas' neck, pushing him back down. “Granted, I was _thinking_ there was gonna be a _bed_ involved, but this works too.”

“Look, are you just going to keep talking or _oooohhhh._ ”

“ _Fuck,_ you feel good.” He shifts and thrusts in again, huffing. “Gonna do this _every_ time you act up now.”

Thomas' hands are claws against the tabletop, drawing thin lines in the varnish. “I could...deal with...that.”

“Well, then, maybe I _shouldn't._ ” Another thrust, deep enough that the fronts of his legs hit the backs of Thomas', and Thomas _yowls._ “S'posed to be you're in _trouble._ ”

“Sometimes I hate you.”

“If you _hated_ me, Tomcat, _pretty_ sure you wouldn't be so _into_ this.” He's got a good rhythm, the heat on his cock is almost _unbearable,_ and he leans in so he can pull Thomas' head back by the _hair._ “Now _shout_ for it.”

Thomas _howls_. He shouts, he snarls, he moans, he curses Floyd with some vehemence, and Floyd goes so hard that they shake the table, which is probably going to break soon. And Floyd's none too quiet himself, he's fucking _babbling_ as he thrusts, “Fuckin' _hell,_ Tomcat, _listen_ to you, you're a fuckin' _circus._ I oughtta call the others, get 'em in on it, oughtta let them take _turns_ makin' you shout. Let _them_ fuck you.” Sweat drops from his forehead onto Thomas' back, and for a moment he trails off into a groan as Thomas _clenches_ around him. He laughs, and it's cut-off and breathless. “You like that, huh? Me lettin' everyone else in on the secret? Sweet ass like yours oughtta be a _national_ fuckin' treasure.”

The noises he's getting are almost _sobs_ now, the furrows in the table are all the way through to real wood, his hips are moving like pistons and then he presses his lip against the back of Thomas' neck and says, “You like it when I boss you, dontcha,” and _bites_ him.

It's really the shivery moan that does it, _that's_ what sends him over the edge and pulsing, spilling into Thomas' ass. Thomas bites down on a knuckle as Floyd comes, almost hard enough to draw blood, and Floyd reaches around him and _tugs,_ tasting salt on his lips as the other man writhes on the table beneath him.

Thomas comes a moment later, cursing, with Floyd still in him.

All this time they've been ignoring the sirens coming closer and closer, but now it's gotten sort of hard to avoid thinking about, since there's rustling and faint voices coming from the front of the safehouse. Then the silence is broken by the sound of someone saying, “Oh my _god,_ ” and someone else saying, “Keep it _together,_ rookie.” The floor creaks a bit, and there's a flicker at the door to the next room and the second voice says, “Come out with your hands up!”

Floyd's still panting and breathless, and he raises an arm and fires off a shot almost absent-mindedly.

There's a shout of pain from the next room.

Thomas says, shaky, “Did you just shoot someone while you were still _inside_ me?”

Floyd shrugs. “Mighta done.”

“That's...as close as I'll ever get to a marriage proposal from you, isn't it.”

“I got my ways'a doing things.”

Sore but quite cheerful, they get dressed again, Floyd holding the hole in the chest of his costume shut with a safety pin.

Thomas glances at the door as he's pulling his mask on. “Cops still out there.”

“Yeah. Shouldn't be too much of a problem.” Floyd checks the ammo in his gun and snorts. “We can take care of it. _Real_ issue is, who set up those poor slobs to ambush us with _BB_ guns?”

“We'll have to look into that.” Thomas slips on his claws and starts to head for the door—

—and is stopped abruptly when Floyd grabs the nape of his costume and pulls him back. “ _Next_ time, though, you wait for the _signal_ before you come jumpin' outta the woodwork. Don't feel like diggin' any more bullets outta you.”

“I'll be—”

“Swear to god, Tomcat, I will tie you up and leave you behind if you pull more shit like that.”

Thomas looks at him, one corner of his mouth twitching a little bit, and says, “Ok.”

“Granted, I bet you'd _like_ it if I tied you up.”

“Yeah, probably.”


End file.
